


Psychopomp

by koanju (verstehen)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/pseuds/koanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With thanks to Tanzy, Katie, Suze, and Felicity.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Tanzy, Katie, Suze, and Felicity.

Harry Potter had learned one thing in twenty-eight years of life: hearing disembodied voices was trouble. Especially voices no one else heard. When those voices started evolving into vague people-shaped figures, Harry knew that the shit had officially hit the fan.

When those illusory people started resembling Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, Harry quite suspected he was going mad.

Both men had been dead for nearly eight years. They had the solidity of being _real_, being _alive_.

This was most disturbing.

"Potter?"

"_Potter._"

He blinked, trying to clear his vision. He realized dimly that the first voice had been Millicent Bulstrode. It must seem odd to see Harry Potter standing still in the middle of the Ministry of Magic hallway staring at nothing.

Nothing but two dead people.

The second voice had belonged to Snape; it may have been almost a decade since he had heard it, but there was no way that Harry could ever forget that smooth, resonant, and precise tone.

"Potter? Are you all right?" Millicent again, this time touching his arm in concern. Harry briefly shook his head, closed his eyes, and then opened them again. Snape and Malfoy were gone. "Potter?"

He looked over at Millicent and gave her a small smile. "I'm all right, just trying to remember if I left the oven on at home," he lied.

Millicent stared at Harry for a moment more, quite obviously starting to agree with Harry's own assessment of his sanity. "All right then, Potter. You're blocking the way."

"Thanks," he replied brightly, before smiling again. He hurried off toward Arthur Weasley's office; the quicker he could get this errand run, the quicker he could get back to Hogwarts and talk to Dumbledore.

If Harry had learned two things in his life, the second was that if anything remotely went wrong, the person to see was Dumbledore.

Harry reached the office with no further visitations from the dead, and he silently thanked as many deities as he could think of for that. Knocking on the office door, he peeked his head in. "Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur Weasley had changed greatly since the first time Harry had seen him. The last remnants of his balding red hair had turned stone gray, he had permanent bags under his eyes, his skin was slightly jaundiced, and his clothes hung like tents on him. Harry some days wondered if the man had to punch extra holes in his belts in order to keep his pants from falling down. The most noticeable change, however, were Arthur's eyes. Or rather, lack thereof.

During Harry's Sixth year at Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy had kidnapped Arthur as he worked a late night at the Ministry. After a nerve-wracking week of worrying, searching, and comforting, Harry had stumbled upon Arthur near the top of Stoatshead Hill. He had been beaten, forced to drink Veritaserum, and then finally blinded. No one was completely sure why the Death Eaters had finally released him. Harry hadn't been able to decide what was worse when he returned to the Burrow, carrying the unconscious Arthur in his arms, Molly Weasley's expression at seeing her husband, or the blankness on the face of Albus Dumbledore as he recognized the after effects of Veritaserum and almost immediate started making arrangements to change the codes and supply lines they all used. After and the last of the Death Eaters had been killed, Arthur had finally been well enough to go back to work. The Ministry, and the Wizarding World as a whole, didn't really have accommodations for handicapped, but Arthur had found ways around the blindness.

Arthur's head was bowed over a document, but he looked up at Harry's knock. "Yes?"

Harry stepped all the way in the room. "It's me, Mr. Weasley. Harry."

"Oh yes, our weekly. I'd lost track of time." Arthur smiled tightly, and pointed to a chair.

"How is the family?" Harry asked politely as he sat down. He hated these meetings. The conversation was always stilted. He resented the reason behind them even more.

"Fine, as always."

"And Bill's project with the -"

"Harry, I'm sorry, I don't have the time today. Let's just get down to business, shall we?"

"Right, sir." Harry scowled at Arthur, once again finding a small part of himself grateful that the other man couldn't see. If he let even one hint of what he _really_ thought about this travesty out to anyone but Dumbledore the consequences wouldn't be pretty. Arthur pointed his wand at Harry and quietly muttered the spellword that guaranteed honesty.

"State your name."

"Harry James Potter."

"Age."

"28."

"Birthday."

"July 31, 1980." Harry rolled his eyes. He understood that procedures had to be followed, but the same questions, week after week, year after year tended to grate on his nerves. What was Arthur expecting? For Harry to walk in and announce that _"I'm Merlin reborn, I'm 325 years old, I like to wear pink tutus, bow down before your lord and master"_?

"When was the last time you used the Imperius Curse?"

"May 23, 1999."

"And Cruciatus?"

"I have never used Cruciatus."

"The Killing Curse?"

Harry sighed quietly. "October 31, 2001."

"Thank you, Harry, you can go. Until next week." Arthur's head bowed back down toward his desk, and Harry could see that he was reading a Braille-coded document. Harry turned and quickly walked out of the room. It didn't do to linger when Arthur was in that sort of mood. As soon as he left the Ministry building and found himself back in the bustle of Diagon Alley, Harry reached into his trouser pocket and touched the Portkey to Hogwarts he had with him.

Harry never really got over his nervousness and instinctive dislike of Portkeys. The summer after his Fourth year, Dumbledore had made a special visit to the Dursley's house in order to teach Harry several spells for detecting and enchanting Portkeys, so that he would never be caught again the way he was at the TriWizard Tournament.

The problem was that Harry just physically couldn't cast the spells on _every_ new object thinking it might be a Portkey. Not that he didn't try the first two or so weeks while he was at Hogwarts.

Harry landed in Hogsmead, just outside of the Hogwarts Anti-Apparition fields. Unlike Diagon Alley, Hogsmead was deserted. It had been destroyed in a Death Eater attack, and no one really had the heart to try and repair the damage so the wreckage just stood as a reminder of the lives lost.

Harry started walking toward the castle. He knew by the time he got there, his left knee would be screaming in agony.

_"Potter."_

Harry froze at the voice.

They were back _again._ He sighed, closed his eyes, and kept walking.

_"Potter."_

Harry clenched his fists, and did his best to ignore both men who were flanking him. He ignored the pain in his knee as he limped up the large doors of the castle, throwing them wide open. The eyes of hundreds of students, not to mention the entire teaching staff of the school trained on him.

"Bugger."

Dumbledore, at the head table, stood. "Go on with your meals." He strode, unconcerned about the curious stares, to Harry. Taking in Harry's black expression, he placed an arm on the younger wizard's shoulders. "Let's go to my office, shall we?" Harry nodded, and limped along with Dumbledore. "The knee still giving you trouble, I see," he sighed.

Harry nodded. "Well, since the _Ministry_," Harry pronounced the word as venomously as possible, "didn't let me heal it, it's no surprise."

"Oh Harry," Dumbledore sighed again. They had arrived at the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office quickly. Harry suspected that Dumbledore had probably been aiding him with magic. "Snickerdoodles," he said, and the gargoyle moved out of the way smoothly. "Come in. Have you eaten?"

"No, not yet. You know it takes me all day to travel in to the Ministry." Harry gingerly lowered himself into a chair in front of his desk as Dumbledore conjured some sandwiches and tea from the kitchens. He smiled slightly. "Someday, Albus, you'll have to tell me how you do that."

"If only I could, Harry."

The Headmaster's kind tone belied the steel behind the words, and Harry lost any sense of amusement he might have had. "I can't do this anymore, Albus. It's just so _wrong!_"

"You've done it for nearly seven years, Harry. You'll get up and do it again next week and the week after that."

Dumbledore's pragmatic answer made Harry furious. "They broke my wand! They put wards on me so that I can't perform magic! They force me to come back here every week to answer the same bloody questions so that I can't even escape into the Muggle world! It's worse than being a criminal, Albus!"

"But to them, Harry, you _are_ a criminal."

Harry stared mutinously at Dumbledore for that. "Well, what did they expect me to do?" He sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to dispel the impending headache. "May I have a glass of water?" Dumbledore nodded and conjured a tumbler of water for Harry as he fished in his trouser pocket for the small bottle of aspirin that he kept there. Taking one, he sipping on the water, waiting for it to take effect. "I just... I don't know. I almost wish they'd Obliviated my memory completely and left me in the Muggle world."

"They never would have done that, my boy. Regardless of the actions you might have been forced to take, regardless of how those actions are viewed, you are still the Boy Who Lived. They would never go so far to ostracize you entirely."

"Seems as if they did a pretty good job of it, don't you think? _Aurors,_ Albus, Aurors have to meet me, put timed glamour charms on me, and take me to Diagon Alley because someone might kill me before I can make it to the Ministry. But they don't bother with the same courtesy on my way back. And then they don't bother to help me or heal me when I do get hurt. I'd say that's pretty close to complete exile as you can get. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I can still see the Leaky Cauldron, even if I can't get into it."

"You still have me, Sirius, and Remus. You are not alone." Harry sighed and scowled at Dumbledore. "What really brought this on, Harry?"

Harry sighed. There were times he hated Albus Dumbledore. He hated the man's ease at manipulation. He hated the man's perceptivity. He hated the man's seeming ability to know everything and yet share nothing, leaving the rest of the human race to flounder around trying to figure things out on their own. He hated the way the man always made him feel petty. He hated the way the man had lived through 160 years of life and three wars relatively untouched while everything Harry had been close to and believed in was ripped away. "I've been getting death threats again. Somehow they're getting past the filtering charms Remus put up for me. Some of them are even coming Muggle post." That surprised Dumbledore, and Harry felt a large surge of satisfaction at finally knowing something the other wizard didn't. The location of the Riddle House was a very protected secret, and not only because Harry was the one living in it.

Despite Dumbledore's surprise, he waved that off. "There's something else, isn't there?"

_"Tell him, Potter. Run to Dumbledore as you always did. Tell him, Potter. Show him you're mad and not to be trusted. Show him exactly what you are: a helpless little boy._" Harry could swear he felt Snape's breath on his cheek as the other man hissed in his face.

"I've been... seeing things."

"Things, Harry?"

"Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy."

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Are they with you now?"

Harry looked to his left, Malfoy was glowering at him. At his right, Snape was smirking. He looked back at Dumbledore's purposely blank face and nodded. "How long have you been seeing them?"

"Define seeing." Dumbledore just _looked_ at Harry and raised his eyebrows. "I started hearing voices no one else did about six months ago. At first I thought it was the garden snakes, but they're the least talkative bunch you could imagine. Then about a month ago I started seeing figures. It wasn't until today that I finally saw them clearly enough to recognize them."

"You've been talking to the snakes?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. "It's not like there's much else to do. I finish the book packages Remus sends me quickly and for obvious reasons no one ever visits."

"Is the newest book going well?"

"I finished it earlier this month and sent it off to my editor. It's a piece of crap. The butler did it. It'll sell millions." In his Seventh year at Hogwarts, as a "training exercise," Dumbledore had ordered Harry to start writing all his reports out, only allowing him to give the most important ones in person during Order meetings. Harry found that he actually _enjoyed_ the writing, and had started doing it on his own in the little bit of spare time he had between Order missions, Quidditch, and classes. It had taken him nearly two years, but he had finished his first novel and surprisingly enough Dumbledore had recommended that he try and publish it in the Muggle world under a pseudonym.

Now, several years later, Harry found himself incredibly grateful for that bit of encouragement. His career as a mystery author gave him something to do and a damn good reason to be a virtual recluse. Although, in retrospect, Dumbledore never seemed pleased with his choice of pseudonym: T.M. Riddle.

"Harry, I might suggest you try and take a break. Maybe take a vacation?" Harry snorted. "I could arrange for you to have your weekly testimony given remotely." Harry snorted again.

_"Of course you'd say no, Potter. That would involve leaving your hiding place, boy. Where's your vaunted Gryffindor bravery now?"_

"Why don't you believe me, Albus?" Harry asked, tuning out Snape's sneering much in the same way he learned to do working with the man.

"Harry, the wards are constructed so that _all_ bits of innate magic were stopped. You shouldn't be a Parseltongue anymore, let alone see Wizarding ghosts."

Harry rubbed his forehead and grimaced. "Fine, don't listen. Can I borrow your fireplace?"

Dumbledore reached into his desk and pulled out a small bag of Floo Powder and passed it to Harry. _"Running away again, boy? You are a spoiled brat, aren't you? The minute you don't have someone holding you up, you fold."_ Harry scowled, his hand clenching around the bag.

"Thank you, I'm sorry for disturbing lunch."

Dumbledore smiled. "It's quite all right, my boy! We all need a little excitement in our lives, don't we?" He gestured to the dormant fireplace and it lit up for Harry, who smiled weakly back. He tossed the Powder into the fire.

"Riddle Mansion."

After his adventures in Knockturn Alley when he was twelve, Harry had never trusted Floo travel. It was dizzying, nauseating, and given Harry's abysmal luck, all too likely to deposit him somewhere nasty.

Thankfully most days Riddle Mansion, Harry's home, counted under the category of "nasty." Harry had bought the place through a Gringott's agent at a remarkably cheap price the day he turned 18. It was a birthday present to himself. He had then proceeded to hire carpenters, electricians, plumbers. Anything and everything necessary to restore the house to good condition and prefect Muggle standards. Four people had died before the project was finished; there had been rather annoying traps hidden all over the house. It had gained quite the reputation with the locals as haunted, further reinforcing the general idea that Harry was not only reclusive, but also quite mad.

Only five people in the Wizarding World knew of the purchase: the Gringott's agent, who was contractually bound to silence until death, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and Severus Snape. When each had asked Harry, in varying degrees of wariness and surprise, exactly _what_ demon had possessed him to buy the Riddle Mansion, Harry hadn't been able to explain his actions. Looking back, he decided he was just far better at Divination than anyone ever thought he might be.

Some days he longed to go back to his first home: Godric's Hollow. Sirius and Remus had rebuilt the place during the war in secret, not even telling Harry about the changes. All of the Hogwarts Alliance had chipped in some way, even Snape. Although Harry was fairly sure Snape had only agreed to use his precious protection potions under the threat of blackmail, torture, and perhaps even being fired.

What none of the Alliance realized was that Godric's Hollow, the starting _and_ ending place of the wars, would become a tourist attraction. Wizards from all around the world gathered there, right down to a yearly pilgrimage on Halloween to celebrate the Dark Lord's twice defeat on that day. Harry had spent a week in the house, cooped up, trying to avoid both reporters and well-wishers, before accidentally attacking someone who had snuck up on his to take a picture. He had left swiftly for Hogwarts after that, using Albus's fireplace to Floo to the Riddle Mansion. Harry hadn't been back to Godric's Hollow since. He had given Remus and Sirius free reign of the place, saying it was theirs in all but name. This year for Christmas, he planned to give them the deed to the property. Harry was rather eager to see Dumbledore's expression when he heard about _that._

Harry tripped out of the fireplace as he always did, landing in the rather Victorian library floor, on his bad knee. He sucked in a hiss of air as the pain spiked. _"Clumsy as ever, boy. I don't know how you managed to survive this long if you can't even walk without tripping over your own feet."_

"Oh shut up, Snape," Harry muttered, picking himself up off the floor. The first thing to do was check the doors.

Harry was fascinated with locks. He figured it had to do with so much time spent locked in a cupboard. He just felt _safer_ the more locks he had around him. The front door, and only entrance into the house from the outside had four locks on it: two deadbolts, one for the doorknob, and a chain. There was something supremely satisfying about hearing the click of the locks into place. He glanced over at Malfoy, who was sneering at him. "Is he the only one who can talk?" Harry gestured over to the smirking Snape.

_"I thought you wanted me to shut up, Potter. How like a little boy; constantly changing your mind."_ Harry sighed at Snape's reply and walked out of the library into the front entrance. He strode to the front door.

All the locks were undone.

Harry felt his fingers twitch slightly, missing the loss of his wand yet again. _"Problems, Potter?"_ Snape sounded ecstatic. Harry turned and glared at him.

"Shut up!" he hissed in reply, turning to the closet. He silently pulled out his .45 and loaded the spare clip he kept in his jacket pocket. He'd owned the semiautomatic for nearly ten years now, and kept it well hidden from the British government. Only two people knew he owned it, Harry and Snape. Harry had been supremely surprised when Snape had presented the weapon. Of all the people Harry had known in his rather sheltered life until that point, Severus Snape was the _last_ person he would _ever_ imagine knowing how to use Muggle weaponry. Harry had been 17 when Snape presented him with the gun, and took the time to explain the cleaning, care, firing, and concealing the weapon both magically and mundanely. When he was proficient at everything Snape was trying to teach him, only then did the older man allow him to actually _use_ the gun on raids and missions.

_"I see you never got rid of it, did you Potter? Another part of my legacy. How many did you kill with it? Tell me, boy!"_

"Shut _up!_" Harry tried again. He knew the library was clear, and obviously the hallway was as well. Next room on this floor would be the sitting room. He passed the door to the library and walked silently toward the sitting room.

_"I see many things never change when it comes to you, boy."_

"Look, Snape, or whatever you are, please be quiet!" Harry finally pleaded, feeling desperate. The day had been trying enough without having to deal with a sneering Snape and a possible killer at the same time. Not that he hadn't done it before, but the last time Snape had been alive and at least _partially_ helpful in deflecting hexes and curses while Harry worked.

Harry slowly pushed the door to the sitting room open and peaked in. There wasn't anyone visible. _"To your left, Potter."_ He cautiously walked in the room, deliberately leaving his left side open, and holding his breath.

The tell-tale whisper of sound as boots strode over the carpet gave the intruder away. Harry turned on the balls of his feet, pointed the gun in the vicinity of where he heard the footsteps, and pulled the trigger. A thud and a deeply-voiced muffled cry of pain gave Harry a great deal of satisfaction. When the figure had fallen the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak the man was wearing had ridden up a bit, exposing black trousers. Harry had gotten a clean shot to the man's thigh.

He kneeled down next to the cursing figure on the floor before looking over at his two "guests." Snape was sneering and Malfoy leering. Harry rolled his eyes before addressing Snape. "Thanks." He turned back to the figure and pulled the Cloak completely off the man.

Oliver Wood, former England Seeker and leader in the fight against Voldemort, lay on his side, clutching his right thigh.

"Well. That's certainly unexpected."

Oliver spit in his face. Behind him, Snape laughed. Harry scowled and removed his glasses. Beneath him, he saw a blurry image of Oliver's right arm reaching for the Invisibility Cloak. Harry began cleaning the lenses of his glasses on his shirt, keeping an eye on Oliver's hand. He couldn't afford to let the other man get a hold of his wand, gun or no gun. He put his glasses back on and in a split second had grabbed Oliver's wandering hand. "Hello, Oliver. I do wish you'd let me know in advance, I would have arranged some refreshments." He pulled the sleeve of Oliver's shirt up to expose his forearm.

"Looking for the Mark of your Master?" Oliver hissed.

Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "I'm sorry, Oliver, the Dark Lord isn't at home right now, but I'd be happy to take a message and I'm sure he'll get back to you." He kept his tone deliberately sorrowful.

In the background he heard Snape's rich laugh. Harry took that as a compliment. After all, he had learned from the best. _"This one certainly picked up some of the more disagreeable aspects of your personality, Severus."_ It was the first time Harry had actually heard Lucius Malfoy's nasal drawl since he'd recognized them earlier.

"Fuck you," Oliver spat in Harry's face a second time, redirecting his attention as the older man swung a fist that Harry easily dodged by swinging back.

He sighed. "Come on, Oliver, let's get you off the floor so I can take a look at your leg." Harry pushed himself up so that he was bending next to the other man instead of kneeling. Making sure his weight was on his good leg, Harry grabbed Oliver and lifted the man, wincing at the added weight. He limped over a few feet and dropped the man abruptly on a long sofa against the wall. Oliver's eyes had closed and Harry assumed he had passed out from the pain. While Harry's former Quidditch captain had been a good leader, and a fairly good fighter during the fight with Voldemort, he had been nothing special, just middle rank when it came down to it. He didn't have much in the way of a pain threshold.

Harry stared down at the man on the sofa and sighed a bit before taking the man's wand from him. It looked a bit like rosewood, and in Harry's hands he almost thought he could feel the buzz of power. "It's been seven years."

_"You miss your wand, Potter? You miss the power? You miss the magic?"_ Harry heard Malfoy drawl behind him. It was amazing how like Draco the elder could sound. Or perhaps that should be the other way around?

_"Why don't you try and use it, Potter?"_ Snape's tone was curious, not deriding. That in itself was enough to make Harry suspicious.

He turned and studied the ghosts for a minute before reaching out toward Snape. The other man stepped back before Harry could touch him. "You and I are going to have a very long talk about what's going on as soon as I get him out of here." Both ghosts smirked at him. He briefly wondered who had learned that expression from who.

Harry limped out of the sitting room, still holding the wand in his hand. He locked the door, making sure that Oliver wouldn't be able to leave. He went to the door across the hall and stepped in. It was the only room in the house that didn't retain the Victorian air, probably because of the security monitors set up. Harry had learned a few things from the war, and even more as a relatively popular author. Simple locks weren't the only thing Harry had installed in the Mansion. He turned to a computer monitor and set it to show him the last four hours time in fast replay. As he watched, he saw Oliver arrive with a pop. There were Anti-Apparition wards all over the Mansion, stronger than even Hogwarts, so he must have Portkeyed in. Harry scowled.

_"The Ministry."_ Snape said it for him. The smooth satisfaction in his tone was almost unbearable. The fucking Aurors had given him away.

"Shit." Harry scowled, and set the monitor to show real-time before leaving the room and heading toward the bathroom to pick up a first aid kit as well as a few potions he had made sure to keep stocked. He debated returning to the library and fire calling Remus, but decided he'd end up in less trouble if he tended to Oliver first.

Walking into the sitting room, followed by the ghosts, he found Oliver sitting up and trying to bandage his wound using strips torn from his plain black shirt. Harry rolled his eyes, opened the first aid kit, and pulled out a pain-numbing potion. "Here, use this, and I'll take the bullet out."

"I don't want anything from _you._"

"Take it, or I'll force it down your throat."

Oliver growled and Harry could see that he had clamped his jaw shut. Harry sighed, and grabbed Oliver's nose with his right hand, pinching it shut, as he popped the stopper off the bottle. Oliver, still too dazed to try and shake Harry off, finally opened his mouth for a breath. Harry poured the potion down his throat. "What did you give me?"

"It's a numbing potion, Oliver. Did seven years of potions at Hogwarts with Snape teach you nothing?"

_"Of course it didn't, the idiot never took his head out of a Quidditch magazine to learn anything."_ Harry stifled a chuckle at Snape's derision before continuing.

"You won't be able to feel anything for a while. So, let's get that bullet out, bandage you up, and get you the hell out of my house." Harry reached into the kit and pulled out everything he needed to take the bullet out of Oliver's leg.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're bleeding on my floor."

Harry worked in silence, barring the occasional suggestion or "hmm" of approval from Snape. It was rather amazing what it took to get that from the man, he really did have to be dead before he could give Harry Potter any praise. "There, done." Harry handed Oliver a second potion, one to recover his blood loss. "You should stay off that leg for a while, unless you plan on explaining to a qualified Medi-Wizard why exactly you have a gunshot wound." Oliver's lips curled into a snarl. "Now, who let you in?"

"As if I'd tell you, Death Eater."

"Oh for -" Harry burst out, thoroughly annoyed. "I am not, nor have never been, a Death Eater. They, for example," Harry pointed over his shoulder at where Snape and Malfoy were lurking, "are Death Eaters." Oliver's eyes flicked over Harry's shoulder, and he looked confused. Harry took advantage of Oliver's confusion, and poured the second potion down his throat. "Who let you in?"

"Percy Weasley." Oliver said before he could stop himself.

"Oh, did I forget to mention the small drops of Veritaserum in both potions?" Harry smirked.

"Yes. Bastard."

"How did Percy get around the wards?"

"He stole the key from his father's office."

Harry hissed at the answer. He hadn't realized exactly how much hate most of the Weasley's had for him. For Percy to go that far, breaking the rules, stealing from his own father, attempted murder; it shocked Harry. He sighed as he felt the last portion of his childhood wither and die. "Why you?"

"Percy said I was better at attack magic than he was."

_"Obviously not good enough."_ Malfoy laughed from behind them.

"Get out of my house, Oliver. Don't come back." Harry pulled Oliver upright and started marching him toward the front door.

"Give me back my wand."

"No."

Oliver gaped. "You're not allowed to have a wand!"

"And you're not allowed to try and kill me. Wonder whose transgression is bigger." Harry opened the front door, and pushed Oliver out. He slammed the door shut.

_"You've gone soft, Potter."_

"Seven years of enforced isolation will do that to you." Harry made sure the door was securely locked, relishing the sound of each click as the lock activated. He then turned on the exterior security system before walking back to the fireplace. He would have to call Remus and get him over here in the next few days to reinforce or reprogram the wards. "Godric's Hollow."

"Harry?" To his surprise, it was Sirius who answered. "I didn't expect to hear from you tonight!"

"Am I interrupting anything?"

_"Other than his annual dog bath?"_

"Well, no. Not really. What's up?"

"Oliver Wood broke into the Mansion tonight. Do you think you or Remus could Floo over in the next few days and reprogram the wards? The keys will need to be changed. Oliver told me he got them from Percy Weasley."

Sirius sobered, and the lines on his face deepened. Other than a few added wrinkles, Sirius had aged the best of all of them. His black hair held only small smatterings of gray, most of which had appeared after Voldemort's death. His pale eyes still shone with mischievousness, even during the darkest hours of the war. Harry often wondered if working with Fred and George Weasley developing weapons and traps might have had something to do with the continuing good humor of his godfather. He had fleshed out quite a bit since his time in Azkaban, except for his face, where Sirius never could seem to get rid of the hollows in his cheeks. "Are you all right?"

Harry grinned. It was good to know that no matter what happened, Sirius still cared about him. "I'm fine, I sent Oliver off just a few minutes ago."

Sirius stared wryly at Harry's grin. "How is Oliver doing?"

"Gunshot wound, in his thigh. I patched him up, he'll live."

"Let me guess, you slipped him some Veritaserum in a pain-numbing potion?"

"You know me far too well."

Sirius's smile turned slightly sad. "No, I know Snape too well."

"It was a long time ago, Sirius. Let it go."

_"He's a dog in more ways than one, Potter. He can't ever let his bones go, nor can he bury them. The only thing he can do is gnaw on them until they're gone."_

Harry studied his godfather and oddly enough, found himself agreeing with Snape's assessment. "I just can't help but think none of this would have happened if _I_ had been the one to train you. You wouldn't have been thrown under suspicion because you were associating with that _Death Eater._"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whether you or Snape trained me, Voldemort still would have used the spell. They still would have died. No use blaming yourself."

"You've become awfully pragmatic in your old age, Harry."

"Apparently I get it from my mother."

Sirius sighed, and nodded. "Remus and I have plans tonight, but we'll Floo over tomorrow and start changing the keys. Who do you want to have access?"

"The same. You, Remus, Dumbledore."

Sirius winced. "Not Ron?"

Harry snorted. "No, definitely not Ron. Especially if you want me to survive until my next birthday."

Sirius nodded. "Right. We'll see you tomorrow then, say one o'clock?"

Harry smiled in reply, and Sirius's head disappeared from the fireplace. _"I still don't see how that mangy mutt managed out live you, Severus."_

Harry turned to his guests. "Probably because Snape stepped in front of a curse for that 'mangy mutt.' Awfully Gryffindor thing to do, don't you think?" He smirked at Snape, who simply glared back. Malfoy laughed.

_"I like this one, he has teeth." _

"All right then. House is empty. Time to start talking."

Snape sneered. _"Oh how novel, the little Gryffindor is going to interrogate us, Lucius."_

Harry glared at his former professor. "Couldn't you be helpful for once in your life?"

_"Being helpful is for fools,"_ Malfoy sneered, stalking up to stand in front of Harry. _"If you want something, you must be willing to offer something of equal value in exchange."_

Harry rolled his eyes. "And what do you want in exchange for an explanation of why you're here and why I'm the only one who can see you."

Snape smiled. The expression looked wholly out of place for it's sheer pleasantness. It brought his face out of the shadows and succeeded in even slightly taming the long nose, making his features seem more rounded. He glided toward Harry so that he was standing behind him. Snape's height put him nearly even with Malfoy with the shorter Harry caught in between the two. Harry had never topped 5'5". The pair pressed close, and Harry imagined he could feel the cloth of their robes on his skin and the heat of their breath whispering through his hair. _"Oh that one is easy, boy."_ Snape's voice sounded next to Harry's ear. He shivered.

"So what do you want?"

_"We want to go home, Potter,"_ Malfoy said, leaning in to whisper in the ear opposite Snape. _"And you're the one who will take us."_

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered.

_"It's you, Potter, it's always you, isn't it? Some sort of gift that you never asked for, something that sets you apart. Consider this one of those things,"_ Snape answered quietly, his voice ringing throughout the room.

"But I can't do magic, they made sure of that."

_"And don't you want that back, Potter? Doesn't it feel like a piece of you is missing? Does it feel like you've been dead?"_ Malfoy took over.

"Yes..."

"That's because, boy, you have been dead. You just haven't realized it yet." Harry felt something touch the back of his neck, a warm hand, and he jerked, breaking out of whatever spell the pair of them were seeming to cast on him. He walked away from the pair of ...ghosts... or _whatever_ they were and sat down in a large chair. He glared at Snape and Malfoy who were smirking at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come now, Potter, even _you_ can't be this dense?" Snape glared, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who returned the glare full force.

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't need to, Snape."

"Oh, just tell the boy, Severus. Otherwise we'll be stuck here all night." Malfoy contributed. Harry thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Quite." He looked around the room and sighed before looking expectantly at Harry.

"What?"

"Obviously you don't spend much time with company, Potter, because usually you offer them a place to sit and refreshments," Snape snarled back.

Harry laughed. "You're dead. What do you need to sit down and eat for. Besides, I remember what the dead eat, and I'm awfully sorry, but I haven't got any rotten fish or burnt cakes handy."

"Potter, for once in your life, use your head." Snape stalked over to where Harry was sitting and ran a finger down his scar. Harry froze.

"That's bloody impossible! You both were hit by the Killing Curse!" He shouted, jumping to his feet. He regretted the action as soon as he took it, his leg gave out and he landed on the floor. He flinched, but training kicked in, and Harry hadn't let out a sound.

"You taught him well, Severus," Malfoy said pleasantly, kneeling next to Harry. "Give me the wand." Harry had long stopped responding to orders, and decided that he quite liked Oliver's response.

"Fuck off." Malfoy laughed, placed his hands under Harry's armpits and hauled the smaller man up with a surprisingly strong grip. "Will you _please_ tell me what's going on?" The Lucius Malfoy Harry had met before his "death" never would have acted like this. Of course, Harry himself never would have whined, but it had been a rather trying day. Malfoy settled Harry back in his chair.

"Do you still have that wand?"

"It's in my pocket." Snape laughed, a pleasant, free sound, which reminded Harry of the smile he had seen earlier. There was something incredibly odd going on here.

"Use it."

"I _can't,_ you bastards!"

"Do as you're told, boy, things will move along quicker that way," Snape jeered.

Harry took the wand out of his pocket, and held it lightly in his hands. "What do you want me to do?"

Snape rolled his eyes and cuffed Harry on the back of the head. "A healing spell, stupid boy! You'll be no good to us damaged!"

"Oh." Harry, while annoyed at the other man, couldn't fault him his logic. "How do you know this'll work?"

"Oh, stop stalling, boy, and do it."

Harry shrugged. "I hope you're not expecting much, those are fairly strong wards." He pointed the wand at his leg, picturing the jagged scar in his mind and spoke the spell. "Sano." He looked up at Snape, as if to say 'I told you so,' before realizing the pain that had been there just moments before was gone. "_Bloody hell._" Snape smirked at the expression on Harry's face. "Someone had better explain what the hell is going on **right now** or there will be consequences."

Malfoy laughed. "Impatient, isn't he?"

"Patience has never been one of Potter's strong points."

"We're going to Malfoy Manor, all explanations will be given there."

"Malfoy Manor's been deserted for years. Not to mention the entire brigade of Aurors they have watching the place in case Draco shows up and decides to start following in your footsteps, Malfoy. I'm not leaving."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Potter. Is that any way to speak to your social betters?"

"I repeat: fuck off."

"Don't you want to know what's going on, boy?"

"Oh, shut up and leave me alone, Snape."

Snape looked over at Lucius and raised an eyebrow. He tried to decipher at least some of the silent communication between the two, but failed rather miserably. Instead Harry started gingerly flexing his leg, astonished by how easily and well it had healed. "All right, boy, you'll get your wish." Harry raised his eyes to Snape's black one's, somewhat surprised by the easy aquiesence from both Snape and Malfoy. "For now." Ah, there was the codicil he had been expecting.

Harry watched as Snape and Malfoy waved sarcastically and then faded from view. It was a rather disconcerting sight; the men slowly disappeared, feet up. Harry rather suspected that his expression on his face was something like the expression on Draco's face in third year at the Shrieking Shack.

He stood and paced around the room. It was a habit he had picked up in Azkaban, and never quite lost. Six steps to the right, turn on the heel of his right foot, six steps to the left. He considered the facts as he knew them: his reemerging ability to do magic, the appearence of Snape and Malfoy who had been killed _before_ Voldemort's death, the fact that no one else could see the ghosts, his leg was healed, the Weasleys had made another unsuccesful attempt on his life, Snape and Malfoy wanted him to go to Malfoy Manor, Snape had warned him before Oliver had made a move, and Malfoy had been nice to him.

Harry stopped pacing. _He could do magic again._ He pointed the borrowed wand at the chair he had been sitting in earlier. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Nothing happened.

Harry was decidedly _not amused._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to everyone who asked for more, but Tanzy and Katie specifically. You two drive me to drink, but hey, if it works, it works, right?

Morning hit before Harry was truly ready for it. He had never grown out of his Hogwarts habit of having his bed facing to the east, so the sun's rays on his face forced him out of slumber. He stilled, waiting for the cramping in his leg that usually came with the tossing and turning he inevitably experienced at night.

Nothing.

"Oh. Right," Harry muttered. "Snape and Malfoy." He glanced over at the clock. 11 am. Just enough time to shower, get dressed, and fix some food for Remus and Sirius before they showed up. He should have remembered to ask them if they wanted to Floo over, rather than drive. He pulled himself out of bed, rummaged in his drawers for a towel and walked to the shower. "I'd forgotten how good that felt."

"What, boy? Being able to walk without limping?" Yes, the brief respite from their presence seemed to be over. "Oh, don't look like that, Potter. We told you we'd be back."

Harry continued to scowl at Snape. At least Malfoy wasn't with him this time. "Yes, but I wasn't expecting you to join me in the shower, Snape."

To his surprise the other man laughed. "Getting shy in your old age, aren't you? I thought I taught you better than that."

Harry sneered at the reminder of the training. During the war there had been far more important things to worry about than body shyness. When you were trapped in a cold cell with little more than rags to cover yourself, you concentrated more on the warmth than the covering. And that had been exactly how Snape had cured him of any lingering shyness. The summer before Harry's fifth year, he had stayed at Hogwarts rather than returning to the Dursley's. Snape, Dumbledore, and Sirius all took turns throughout the months training him in different areas. Snape had predictably enough chosen to teach Harry intimidation and interrogation tactics, and how to counter them. Part of that training had included being locked in a dungeon for a week. Sirius had been furious when he had found out, and although Harry understood Snape's actions, it had been a rather fun confrontation. He would never forget how Severus Snape had looked with purple polka dots, cloven feet, whiskers, a forked tongue, and a cat's tail. "Please, Snape. I just didn't want to offend your delicate eyes." With that, Harry stomped off.

He turned the water on, to the hottest setting. Another luxury of the war. Too many times and places where hot water were hard to find. Stepping in the shower, he let the heat and steam hit him, scalding his skin as he stood under the spray. "No wonder Severus wanted to be here so early in the morning."

"Bloody hell!" Harry jumped at the sound of Malfoy's voice behind him, and succeeded in falling out of the shower. The older man laughed at Harry, as he laid on the bathroom floor clutching the elbow he landed on. "This is too disturbing. Get out."

Malfoy leaned down, and ran a finger delicately over Harry's scar. "What is, boy?" He was close, close enough that Harry could feel Malfoy's breath on his face. But the dead don't breathe.

"Seeing a Malfoy, especially a _dead one_ leching. Get out."

Malfoy laughed again, the sound echoed through the small bathroom, and seemed to mingle with the sound of the water hitting the shower tiles. "How will you make me?" he asked, lips almost on Harry's ear.

Harry sighed. Malfoy had a point. He knew a few banishing spells that might work on the two dead men, but there was no way he'd be able to accomplish them with a borrowed wand. If he could in the first place. He glared at Malfoy, stood up, and stepped back into the shower. "Would you please leave so that I could finish my shower in peace?" He didn't bother to look over and see if Malfoy complied. He did, however, cut the shower shorter than normal. When he got out, Malfoy was gone. Drying off, he tied the towel around his waist, and strolled back to his bedroom.

Where, predictably enough, Malfoy and Snape were sitting on his bed grinning at him. "You know, if you two are that desperate for a peepshow, I expect payment in advance."

Malfoy laughed. "Visit Malfoy Manor. I'm sure something of equal value could be arranged." Harry snorted, and turned to get dressed.

"Look, could you not bother me when Sirius and Remus get here?"

"Is that what you want for the strip tease?" Harry rolled his eyes, but found himself puzzled by Snape's tone. It was _teasing._ Even with the grudging respect they'd given each other, Harry hadn't found hide nor hair of a sense of humor.

Now dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a green pullover, Harry walked to the kitchen to start preparing a light lunch. "Do you two want anything?" Harry found himself asking before he stopped to think.

"Have any caviar?" Malfoy asked curiously.

"Not on my usual menu, Malfoy. You'll just have to make do with pasta, like the rest of us," Harry said, after a quick check of his cabinets. He would have to go shopping soon. He started the pasta, and hunted around for ingredients for sauce. "Look, this is just too eerie. Can't you two just explain what's going on and why you're acting so odd?"

"Odd?" Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised by the accusation.

"Let's see. First of all, you're _dead!_ Second, Malfoy, you're my enemy, so forgive me if I find it odd to see you making yourself at home here and even trying to peep on me in the shower. Third, you're a cold, nasty man, and now you're _joking_ around? And don't even get me started with what's wrong with Snape."

Malfoy stood, and loomed over Harry, who found himself mildly disgusted that he had to look up at the dead man. "If you would wish a return to our former behavior, I believe that could be arranged. However, we decided that friendliness would go farther to produce a good working relationship."

Harry just gaped at him.

"You're burning the noodles, boy." Snape put in sourly.

"_'We'_ my ass," Harry muttered as he took the noodles off the stove. He drained the water and looked back at Malfoy. "Is this some strange plot to make me insane in revenge for killing you?"

"No, of course not. As we told you last night, boy," Snape broke in, "you're no use to us damaged."

"Then how is it that I could preform the healing spell last night, but not the levitation charm?" Harry asked as he started rummaging through cabinets looking for sauce.

Snape sighed, and Harry had an intense flashback to his Potions lessons when Neville had done something so spectacularly stupid that even Hermione couldn't fix it. He braced himself for the impending explosion. "Potter, you complete _imbecile!_ How you survived this long without using that minuscule brain of yours, I'll never know! Lucius, we should just leave this incompetent to his fate and be done with it."

Harry put the pasta sauce on the kitchen counter and turned to watch the two ghosts interact. He had a faint hope that perhaps one of them might let a small piece of information slip. "If we did that Severus, we would be stuck with our fates as well." Snape scowled at Malfoy's words, but said nothing further. "I'm glad we agree," Malfoy finished pleasantly. Snape snorted.

"As amusing as watching you two is, I really would like some answers." Malfoy and Snape looked back over at Harry as he finished up the pasta and started a salad. Both were as silent as the grave. "Why don't you answer three of my questions, and then I'll agree to go with you to Malfoy Manor." It wasn't the best of bargains, but he decided that as Slytherins, they could respect the attempt.

"One question," Snape replied tersely.

"Three, or I find that wand and try a few banishing spells."

"Two questions, and we leave while Black and Lupin are here," Malfoy offered. Snape glared at him.

Harry considered. It was a fairly good trade, all things considered. It meant not walking into Malfoy Manor blind, _and_ being able to have a conversation with someone without Malfoy and Snape lurking over his shoulder. Even if no one else could see them, they were still highly distracting. Harry just had to remember what happened in front of Bulstrode and Albus' reaction to the situation to know that. "Deal. We'll talk after Sirius and Remus leave. Which means you should leave now," Harry glanced at the kitchen clock, "as they should be here shortly."

Malfoy nodded and offered Harry his hand. Snape rolled his eyes and looked rather discontent by the whole exchange. Harry felt a brief stab of amusement at the thought that Snape's "discontent" expression wasn't much different than the "Potter, you little nitwit, you will die now!" expression. Harry shook Malfoy's hand. It was solid. For a dead man, he had an awfully firm grasp. Slightly warm, and wet with sweat. Harry felt a jolt of shock as he realized the elder Malfoy's handshake was almost the exact opposite of the younger's. "We'll be back, Potter," Malfoy said, letting go. The pair disappeared with a slight pop. Harry shook his head, and returned to his salad.

The doorbell rang, sounding out the Imperial March. Another joke that Remus had always gotten a kick out of, but always seemed lost on Sirius. Harry rather thought that most of what he did was lost on Sirius. And Remus too, for that matter. He walked toward the front door, relishing the feel of not limping, or being without pain, of free unrestricted _movement_. He dawdled enough that the doorbell rang a second time, and Harry picked up his pace slightly, jogging. He checked the peephole, and indeed, his visitors were Sirius and Remus. He undid all of the locks except for the chain and peered out.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Still showing Slytherin tendencies, I see?" Only four people knew of the Sorting Hat's intention to put Harry into Slytherin, and it had become a password of sorts over the years. Harry undid the chain, and opened the door wide, allowing the two men to come in.

"I've got lunch ready, some pasta and salad, if you'd like to eat?"

Remus smiled slightly and nodded. "Of course, Harry. We'd never turn down your cooking." Remus Lupin had gone totally grey. He moved with a tenseness, a subdued energy that Harry always believed came from the desire to hide the wolfish tendencies. He was still the picture of control, and Sirius' return had helped to return a bit of the prankster to the former Hogwarts professor, but neither could stop the aging process. While Wizards generally lived healthy and fulfilling lives well over one hundred years old, werewolves, with their different metabolisms and excruciating physical changes rarely lived to be older than seventy. Remus, while only 48, was essentially an old man. He led the way to the dining room.

"Need any last minute help in the kitchen?" Sirius asked.

"No, the food's done, I haven't had time to lay it out, if you'd like?" Harry replied. While he loved Sirius, the man seemed driven to make him mad. Sirius, in direct contrast to Remus' nonchalance, seemed to take Remus and Harry's every move and action to heart. Harry understood, vaguely, why Sirius was so damn protective. Of course, there was the legacy from his father. But the larger factor centered around the way the three of them had been abused and outcaste by the very society they had bled to save. While Remus began to let go of things, knowing the inevitable was coming, Sirius grasped more tightly in order to stave it off.

"All right, Harry." Remus sat down at the table and looked expectantly at Sirius. Harry smirked.

"C'mon then, Sirius, let's get Mr. Hoover over there some food before he passes out from hunger," Harry walked into the kitchen, trying to brighten the mood a bit. "I've got the pasta, can you grab the salad there?"

"Sure," Sirius grabbed the salad bowl tightly in his right hand and rummaged through Harry's cabinets for three forks. They reentered the dining room and placed the food on the table. Sirius went back for plates, and Harry sat down.

"How have you two been?"

Remus smiled. "Quite well, actually. The book's going well, and I should be done with it in another month or two."

"Really? I had thought the Ministry had issues with some of the revised content."

"Well," Sirius broke in, returning with the plates, "after our Moony here explained that the foremost world expert on werewolves was bound to _be_ a werewolf, and with some meddling from Dumbledore, they approved it all." He sat down and began dishing out pasta onto Remus' plate.

"Even the sections regarding the Dark Arts?" Harry was surprised. The Ministry, while not being run by Cornelius Fudge anymore, had taken a head-in-the-sand approach to anything remotely "Dark" after Voldemort's death. While Harry could appreciate the sentiment, he didn't approve of the technique itself. Especially since Harry himself was considered "Dark." Remus had spent the last five years petitioning for the rights to write a comprehensive and _accurate_ Defense Against the Dark Arts book. It had been a losing battle, especially when two years ago the Ministry had forbid Hogwarts, as the British school of Wizardry, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, saying that it was no longer needed. Dumbledore had been furious at the time, but consented. He held voluntary sessions for all the students in Defense, the only way to get around the Ministry's ruling. Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't bend the law _that_ far. The last he had heard of it, fewer than 20 students from all the years bothered to attend.

"Yes, even those. I think Sirius glowering at them as a visible reminder of the Dark Arts might have had something to do with it," Remus said wryly. Harry laughed while Sirius scowled.

"Azkaban itself was run by Dark Creatures. And after what happened when the Dementors left, I should _hope_ my presence helped."

"Oh, hush and let the man talk, Sirius."

"Harry," Sirius asked, pouting a bit, "why is it that whenever we have a conversation, I suddenly feel as if you're the one who has been the godfather for the last several years?"

Harry looked down at his plate. He knew the answer to the question, he just didn't think Sirius really wanted to hear it. "They did," Remus broke in, avoiding the question, "however, revoke payment for the book."

"They what?"

"In exchange for being able to write about the Dark Arts, the Ministry refused to pay me for it."

Harry stabbed a pasta shell extra hard with his fork. "Hell, Remus, _I'll_ reimburse you then. That book is bloody important, and _needs_ to be published."

"I couldn't, Harry."

"Bullshit." Harry slammed his hand down on the table. "You can, and you _will._" He trained his gaze on his godfather. "Both of you. I've got more money than I know what to do with. Most days I don't even use it to buy groceries." Both Remus and Sirius avoided his gaze. "And while we're on the subject," Harry said, before he stood up. "I'll be right back." It was a little early, but given the way things were progressing with his personal Jacob Marleys, Harry figured no other time might be better. He walked to his bedroom and approached the wall safe. Unlocking it, he took out the deed to Godric's Hollow, and walked back to the dining room. Remus was picking at his food, and Sirius was making no attempt to eat at all. "Here." He slammed the documents down on the table in front of his godfather.

"What's this?"

"The deed to Godric's Hollow, and the transfer of ownership papers. You two now officially own it."

"But Harry!" Remus burst out. "That's _your_ home."

"It's been in your family for hundreds of years! You're Gryffindor's Heir, you can't let it out of the Gryffindor family, Harry!" Sirius picked up where Remus left off.

"First of all, that was my home for all of sixteen months, most of which I spent as a baby. Secondly, you two fixed it up. You two did all the work on it. You two remember the place as it used to be. You two are willing to put up with the attention that comes with the place. You two _already_ live there. Third, being Gryffindor's Heir has nothing to do with bloodlines, it's a magical inheritance. You two of all people should know that by now. It's merely a coincidence that we're distantly related. Tom Riddle had no blood relation to Slytherin, but his magic was still the same; it's the magic that marks the Heir, you idiots. And lastly, the Potter line ends with me anyway. I'd rather see the place go to people I love now, than strangers. Or even worse, see it become some bloody Wizarding shrine for the masses." Harry sat down, all the anger released by his speech.

"Damn Harry," Sirius gulped, looking a little pale. "I think that's the most you've said at one time in years."

"Thank you, Harry," Remus said quietly, smiling.

Harry beamed back at him. "You're welcome, and honestly, I'm glad to be rid of the place. It's got two annoying tenants that keep trashing the house, and I can't seem to be rid of them. Perhaps you two might have better luck," Harry replied with a straight face.

Sirius broke and laughed. "Thanks, Harry." He gently ran his fingers over the deed. "You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?"

He simply nodded. "It's not like I really want the place, Sirius. Up until that," he pointed at the papers, "Godric's Hollow was really yours in all but name."

Remus leaned over the table and lightly touched Harry's elbow. He repressed the flinch as the fingers traced over Harry's scar. "Are you sure about this, Harry? I mean, your father -"

"I think my father would approve. He'd hate to see the place go to waste. And I'm sure he'd see the irony of the place going to the truest of his friends."

Remus sat back in chair, smiling a bit. "The older you get, Harry, the more you remind me of Lily." Harry smiled back.

"I'm glad," he said, leaving the statement deliberately ambiguous. It was easier if he left it to Remus and Sirius to decide if he was glad because of Remus' statement, or their acceptance of his gift. He picked up his fork and began eating the pasta. Sirius and Remus took the hint and followed suit.

"So how's the new book?" Remus asked, around a large bite.

Harry swallowed his own mouthful. "Finished, actually. I emailed it to my editor about two weeks ago."

"And how was the Ministry visit yesterday?" Sirius asked quietly. The more Harry thought about it, the more apt Snape's description of his godfather seemed. The man really didn't like to let things go, one only had to look at his animosity for his former classmate that continued even after Snape's death, or his dogged persistence in trying to capture Peter Pettigrew who was still at large. At least Sirius himself had been cleared of his crimes when presented with incontrovertible _proof_ that Pettigrew was alive and working for Voldemort. Pettigrew had helped to assassinate the new Minister after Fudge had been outed. Although the Ministry didn't bother to try and reimburse or compensate Sirius for the monies and time lost during his twelve years in Azkaban nor his four years running from both the Death Eaters and the Ministry, most of the Order had decided that having Sirius free to _act_ was good enough for the moment. No one bothered to go back and try and fight the Ministry after the war was over and Voldemort dead. They had larger problems at that moment.

"It was," Harry shrugged a bit, "as usual."

Remus gave him a sharp look. "And Arthur?"

"As usual. I go, we talk, I leave."

"How is he handling, anyway?" Sirius put in. "I haven't seen him in about three years now."

"He seems... better. I think some of the effects are lingering, but for the most part, he makes do quite well," Remus answered for Harry. Seeing his surprised look, Remus turned to address the younger Wizard. "Arthur has been my contact for the final stages of the guide." Harry nodded, it made sense. Perhaps that was what the man had been working on yesterday.

"So. You want to know what happened then, I suspect?" He asked Sirius. Harry was fairly sure the real reason Sirius asked about the Ministry visit was to provoke Harry into talking about Oliver's bungled attempt on his life the night before. Sirius nodded, and continued to eat while watching Harry quietly. He smiled a bit at the very typical Auror tactics. Snape had been fond of it too, as well. Silence was one of the most effective interrogation tactics.

Dumbledore himself worked wonders with it.

"I came home by Floo, after stopping to talk to Albus. I decided to check the doors," Harry saw Remus snort out of the corner of his eye, and glared. "The front door was unlocked. I never leave it locked. I got my gun, and cased the house. Oliver was waiting for me in the sitting room with an Invisibility Cloak. Which I saved, by the way, and you're welcome to it, if you'd like." He paused a minute. "I need a drink. Do either of you want anything?" Harry stood and walked to the door of the dining room.

"Water, for both of us." This time it was Harry's turn to snort at Remus' answer. He walked into the dining room, poured two glasses of water, and then poured himself a large shot of scotch. He drank it swiftly, and then filled his glass again. Picking up one of the water glasses, Harry cupped it between his elbow and chest, and grabbed the third glass before returning to the dining room. "Thanks," Remus said as he accepted the first glass. Harry placed the second glass in front of Sirius as his godfather continued to eat. "Go on."

"Well, I heard the movements," Harry lied, "and shot towards where they were coming from. Ended up hitting Oliver in the thigh. Patched him up, found out that he had Portkeyed in, getting the keys from Percy Weasley, and sent him on his way."

"Percy?" Sirius spoke for the first time. "But he's -"

"The Head of the Department of Mysteries. I know. That doesn't make him infallible, Sirius. You of all people should know that when dealing with the Ministry," Harry spoke without thinking, with far more venom than he intended. Seemed as if Snape was rubbing of on him. Great. As if life couldn't get worse.

Sirius flinched. "Right." He put his fork down on the table. "I think I've lost my appetite."

"I'm sorry, Sirius," Harry sighed. "I didn't mean it. It's just... I don't know. Been building for a while, I guess."

Sirius smiled. It was bright and bitter, and reminded Harry distinctly of the man who survived Azkaban solely to kill Peter Pettigrew. "I can understand that as well."

Harry looked down at his plate. The red pasta didn't look very appetizing at the moment, in fact, it rather looked like blood-soaked insects. "I'll get started on changing the keys, Harry," Remus said quietly, standing. Harry didn't look up, but nodded, and heard him walk out of the room.

"How was he planning to attack you?"

"What?"

"Wood. How was he planning to attack you? Physically? Magically?"

Harry continued to stare at his plate. He almost thought he saw a few pasta shells move. His stomach roiled. "I assume both, but magically was the primary. He had his wand, and told me Percy sent him because he was better at attack magics than Percy was."

"What did you do with the wand?"

At that, Harry looked up. "I gave it back to him, of course," he lied. "I'm not stupid enough to keep the one thing that will bring the Ministry down on me faster than you can say 'Dementor's Kiss.'" He held his breath, hoping his godfather bought the lie. Harry was a rather accomplished liar when he wanted to be, however, it had been many years since he's actually had to use the talent. And even during the war Sirius, Dumbledore, and Snape had amazing abilities to see through him.

"Good." Sirius' smile changed, it became more natural. "At we've been through this much, I'd hate to lose you now."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sirius. What gave you that impression?"

Sirius sighed. "Have you been following the Prophets?" Harry shook his head in response. Sirius ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know how much of what they've been reporting is bunk, rumor, or fact, but Harry... The Death Eaters are regrouping."

"That's not possible."

"They are. And while I'm skeptical that it's not much more than perhaps a few juvenile delinquents acting up, the signs are there. Dark Marks have been appearing. That's perhaps what brought on Wood's attack last night. If people believe that Voldemort is returning, naturally they'll think _you_ had something to do with it."

Harry stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair. "Bollocks!" He grabbed his chair and righted it furiously before pacing. "They stripped my magic, I _can't_ have anything to do with it!"

"Calm down, Harry, no one is pointing fingers yet. But, with the Weasleys, it's -"

"Personal. I know."

Sirius glared. "Would you stop interrupting, it's a rather irritating habit."

Harry waved a hand at Sirius in a vaguely apologetic fashion, thinking as he paced. Snape and Malfoy's reappearance, as ghosts, or _whatever_ they were must have something to do with the signs. "Tell me."

"We've had sightings of the Dark Mark in several public places, all associated with either the Ministry or pureblood traditions."

"Where?"

Sirius thought for a moment, before ticking each location off on his fingers. "Ollivanders, the Ministry branch centered around the research of the origins of magic up in Scotland, and yesterday, Hogwarts."

Harry stopped midstep at that. "Fuck." That explained all the stares he had gotten during his meal time visit yesterday. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Harry turned to stare at Sirius. "This is bad. I was there yesterday."

Sirius sighed. "We'll get through it, like everything else."

Remus walked back into the room, and cocked his head slightly at the tableau. "I've finished rearranging the keys. They're imprinted to brain wave patterns and magical signature now."

Harry looked at him, surprised. "I hadn't realized you could do that!"

"Well, the magical signature is fairly easy, it's imprinted in the blood. But you knew that, since the keys were set that way already. I wonder whose blood they used to infiltrate..." Remus trailed off in thought. Sirius snorted, breaking the werewolf's concentration. "The brain wave patterns is a bit trickier, it's a long process that basically involves creating a ward that acts almost as an EEG, and then a layer on top of that which filters anything out that doesn't have matching patterns. I've already imprinted myself." He pointed his wand at Sirius. "Rintracci il cervello," he muttered. Harry watched, fascinated, as a brown string of magic wrapped around Sirius' head before dissipating. Remus repeated the process with Harry. "If you want Albus to have access, I'll have to cast the spell on him as well while he's here."

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't matter really, Albus never visits. Having him keyed to the wards is more for the Ministry's peace of mind than anything else." Harry grinned a bit. "And what the Ministry doesn't know won't hurt them, right?" Remus grinned back, but Sirius still looked uncomfortable.

"Harry, promise me you won't do anything stupid?"

"Sirius, with you as my godfather, I can almost guarantee that the only things I ever do are stupid," Harry attempted to tease Sirius out of his mood. From the way the older man's expression darkened, the attempt was lost on him.

"Please?"

"All right. I solemnly swear that I will not be up to no good," Harry said lightly, mocking the Marauder's oath a bit, but meaning what he said. Sirius gripped his shoulder tightly and pulled Harry into a hug, something the older man hadn't done since the trials after Voldemort's death. Things _must_ be serious then.

"We'll get out of your hair then. Keep in touch, all right? We worry."

Harry smiled and nodded, but didn't follow either man out of the room. "How touching an example of familial love."

"How nice that you've returned, Snape," Harry replied quietly. The front door had shut. Harry walked into the hallway and breathed a small sigh of relief as he clicked the locks back into place.

He refused to look at either ghost as he returned to the dining room. Pulling Oliver's wand out of his pocket, Harry pointed it at the leftover dinner. He muttered the strongest cleaning spell he knew, purloined from Molly Weasley.

It worked perfectly.

He sighed and turned back to Snape and Malfoy. "Let's talk, then."

* * *

Author's Notes:

_EEG:_ Stands for electroencephalograph, which is a painless medical test that measures activity brain waves and can detect any unusal patterns. It's used, for example, in testing for epilepsy.

_Rintracci il cervello_: Roughly, at least according to the babelfish translator, "track the brain" in Italian.


	3. Psychopomp Chapter 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to everyone who reviewed, but Tanzy and Katie specifically. You two drive me to drink, but hey, if it works, it works, right?

Harry sat down at the seat he had vacated and looked expectantly at Snape and Malfoy. "Ask your questions then, boy," Snape snarled.

"You never did like questions, did you Snape? It's a wonder no one in my year flunked your class."

"Considering what became of Granger, it's no wonder I never called on the little brat." Harry glared back at the man, not liking the reminder.

"Ask your questions, Potter," Malfoy broke in. "I don't fancy listen to the two of you bicker. We have more important things to do with our time."

Harry shot him an amused glance as he tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "A Malfoy peacekeeper. Now I've truly seen _everything._" Malfoy snorted. "I'm going to get a drink, and then I'll ask," he finally said, stalling. There were more two questions he wanted answers to burning in his brain, and the trick would be couching his request so that he received multiple answers to one question. Harry had learned quite a bit over the years, but that particular talent was one he had never quite picked up from Snape. He stood, and walked into the kitchen with his half-empty glass of scotch. Pouring slowly, Harry considered his multiple questions.

How could he still do magic? Why were some of his talents, such as his Parseltongue ability, still active, while the wand magic was tightly bound and could only be preformed in the presence of Snape and Malfoy?

And thinking of Snape and Malfoy, why were they _here_? What was their agenda with this, and what did they have to do with the Dark Mark? What did they need him for?

Harry sighed, and realized that his glass was overflowing. "Waste of good scotch," he muttered, cleaning it up with a towel. He sighed, and walked back into the dining room. Snape and Malfoy were waiting for him, sitting in the chairs Sirius and Remus had occupied. Snape seemed to be drinking out of Remus' untouched water glass. "All right. Questions, then?" He sat down. "Why am I only able to do wand-based magic in your presence?"

Snape gave him a sharp look. Harry's talent with wandless magic beyond the normal affinities, such as the sheer ability to _see_ into the Wizarding World, was a closely guarded secret. The only people who knew about it, other than Dumbledore, were dead. All but Snape had been victims of that very same talent. "As we told you, boy, it's part of who you are."

"Not much of an answer, Snape. Care to elaborate?"

Snape glared. "Are you familiar with the idea of a psychopomp?"

Harry frowned, thinking, before he shook his head. "It sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

"A psychopomp," Malfoy picked up the tale, "is a guide of sorts."

"'Of sorts'?"

"A psychopomp is a guide to souls, most typically the souls of the dead."

Harry snorted. "Well, that explains why you two have been hanging around." He took a drink. "What's the difference between a psychopomp and a necromancer?"

"A necromancer doesn't simply guide the souls of the dead," Snape answered, "A necromancer has the power to completely control them. A psychopomp is simply a guide, there's no control involved. Persuasion or intimidation, perhaps, but no control. The souls follow of their own accord."

"And what does this have to do with the recent activity associated with Death Eaters?"

Snape and Malfoy shared a look at that question. Harry thought he saw a line of worry appear on Snape's forehead. "Unfortunately Harry," Malfoy answered smoothly, "You've had your two questions."

"No, I haven't," Harry replied, angered.

Snape held up his thumb. "First question: 'why am I only able to do wand-based magic in your presence.'" He raised his index finger. "Second question: 'what's the difference between a psychopomp and a necromancer.' I'd say that was two." Harry glared and polished off his drink. "Now it's your turn to fulfill your end of the bargain."

"Right," Harry glowered. "Should I bring anything with me?"

Snape looked him up and down, sneering. "Just a change of clothing, unless you fancy wearing that for several days in succession."

"Get rid of the wand, if you can," Malfoy put in. "You won't need it, for the most part, and it's too incriminating. Your _friend_ has probably already reported it's loss. And when you come up missing when they check, it's best not to have it with you to further culpability."

"Figures that _you'd_ know all about dodging the Ministry, Malfoy," Harry said, but he took the advice to heart. "How will we be getting there?"

"We'll Floo to Malfoy Manor," Snape replied.

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised by the answer. "But we're not hooked into the Floo network around here, except for Hogwarts and Godric's Hollow."

Snape waved a hand dismissively. "As long as you're with us, you can go anywhere you want. You just have to know your destination, and imagine yourself there."

Harry shot him a look. "Sounds fairly simple, what's the trick?"

"No trick." Harry nodded slowly, still not believing the answer. But at least this way he had a decent way of getting rid of the wand. Dropping it while Flooing would mean Oliver's wand would be untraceable, and nearly irretrievable.

"All right, give me ten minutes to pack. Do I need provisions?" Harry almost started at the word. It was war-speak, something he hadn't had to use since school, since Voldemort. It was funny how quickly his mindset had shifted.

Snape shook his head, noticing the change, and from the smug expression that Harry ached to wipe off Snape's face with his fist, he approved as well. "Provisions are not needed, just pack clothes." Harry nodded, showing that he understood, and headed toward his closet.

He pulled out the same box that had held his .45, and grabbed the travel pack Sirius had given him when before he went on his first mission. Eying the box, Harry considered going armed. He grabbed several boxes of bullets, shoved them into the bottom of the pack, and pulled out his holster. He fastened it around his waist, and then rearranged his shirt so that the gun wouldn't be showing. Next came the spring-loaded arm holster, which he attached to his left arm, before loading it with the knife that had been Remus' present before his first mission. Satisfied, Harry returned to the sitting room, to collect the gun he had left there the night before. Snape had probably been rather disappointed by the way he treated his weapons, but when had Harry ever cared what Snape thought? Once the gun was holstered, Harry headed towards his bedroom. He packed older clothes, comfortable but flexible.

Once packed, he returned to the sitting room where Malfoy and Snape were waiting. He studied them intently. Both seemed poised and relaxed, no twitching hands, no signs of impatience or hesitation.

Of course, as Snape himself would be the first to say, both were accomplished liars.

Harry had learned the meaning of the phrase "don't judge a book by its cover" the hard way. Granger would have found a great irony in that.

"Ready?" Malfoy turned around and asked.

"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked again. "I mean, you both have been dead for a rather long time. They've stripped the Manor down to skin and bones, you know, and it _is_ constantly watched. I don't trust this new ability to use magic, however you explain it, at least not enough to think I can escape notice there."

Snape snorted. "You were always too forthright for your own good, Potter. You give away far more information than you take in." He walked over and poked Harry in the chest. "Didn't you learn anything from me?"

It was Harry's turn to snort. "Obviously not, seeing as I ended up here. With you two haunting me."

"And even worse, Harry," Malfoy put in, "you're trusting us." Harry grimaced, but had to admit that Malfoy had a point. "You'll have to do the honors, Severus, I'm needed to guide until we get there."

"The honors?" Harry asked suspiciously. He knew the Floo sounded too easy.

Snape grinned. It was not a nice expression. In fact, Harry thought he remembered seeing that expression quite often on Snape's face as he cursed and hexed former companions. Harry backed away from the taller man. "Oh, don't worry Potter, it won't hurt. Much. Just gather your Gryffindor courage and be still."

Harry stepped back again and reached into his pocket for the stolen wand. He pointed it at the two ghosts. "Much, eh?" Snape and Malfoy exchanged a look. "Elaboration just isn't your strong point, is it?"

"We have to enter you in order for you to both access the Floo system and enter Malfoy Manor," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry stared. "...'Enter me'? As in, _possession_?" Snape and Malfoy nodded in unison. "No. You can just fuck off, there's no way I'm letting either of you into my body."

Snape sneered. "Certainly have changed your tune from when I was alive, haven't you, Potter?"

Harry glared at the reminder of the past. "That was a long time ago, Snape, and I doubt you want to remember it any more than I do."

Malfoy snorted inelegantly. "My, my, Severus. Your taste in lovers certainly hasn't improved over the years." He seemed amused by the entire situation.

"Oh for -" Harry rolled his eyes. "I for one do _not_ want to get into this discussion. So, why don't I just banish you," he hefted the wand thoughtfully, "once and for all?"

"Three reasons," Malfoy answered smugly. "First, you made a deal. Second, I highly doubt you remember the banishing charms necessary. Third, it doesn't work that way. We come and go as we please."

Harry felt his lips peel back in a snarl as he considered the blonde's words. He pocketed the wand. "Tell me."

Snape and Malfoy shared another look. Harry was beginning to get quite tired of that, and walked towards Harry. "Severus to Floo and me to enter Malfoy Manor." Malfoy reached out his hand, and this time, instead of touching Harry, his hand moved _through_ his body. Malfoy left a cold trail in the center of Harry's chest, and he gasped silently.

"Is that what you meant?" Harry found himself asking weakly. Malfoy smiled coldly and nodded. He sighed. "Fine, let's get this over with, so I can say no, and come home."

Snape laughed. He leaned close to Harry's ear, and Harry could feel the warm breath on his ear. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter." With that he stepped fully into Harry's body.

The sensation was intense. Harry supposed it felt a little bit like freezing, a little bit like burning, a little bit like being under Imperius, and a little bit like sloppy sex. He could _feel_ Snape moving around in him, the sensation of _something_ under his skin that just didn't fit comfortably or correctly. He shuddered. _"Stop fighting me, Potter,"_ he felt, more than heard, Snape say.

"Easy for you to say," Harry snapped back. With the familiar return of the bickering he sometimes, late at night, when insomnia and nightmares struck, found himself missing, the uncomfortable feeling of _invasion_ stopped.

_"Much better, Potter. I always knew you could take an order."_

Harry snorted. "So, does this mean Malfoy has to do this too?"

Malfoy walked over and smiled. He reached out and gently ran his index finger over Harry's scar. "Yes." The finger trailed down over Harry's nose. "And since we don't have the past associations that you and Severus do," the finger gently swept over his lips, "it will be much more painful." He pushed his hand through Harry's mouth, into his head and all Harry knew was _pain._

If he thought Snape had been an invasion, it was nothing to this. His nerve endings were flaming, he skin was freezing, and Harry dimly felt himself start to cough and vaguely wondered if he was coughing blood. Harry had been through Cruciatus more than any human ever had the right to, and it was _nothing_ compared to this. The only thing he could compare the sensation to was death. _"You know nothing about real death, boy, you're just picking up **my** memories,"_ Snape's voice over rode the pain, distracting him. _"Real death is not peaceful. It's not painless. It's not a long rest after a particularly trying day."_ Harry twitched and concentrated on the deep and soothing voice in his head. _"It's an end. And if you're lucky enough, a beginning."_

Harry gasped, and found himself on the floor. Snape's words seemed to have acted as a trigger and the pain stopped. He was unsurprised to see a small spot of blood on his shirt. He _had_ been coughing up blood then. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and felt Snape's disgust and Malfoy's amusement at the action. Harry felt the blood roar in his ears and he passed out from the effects of the pain.

_"Bring me Pettigrew," the Dark Lord commanded harshly. He was always on edge before the Death Eaters began a raid._

Lucius bowed, "Right away, my lord," and walked out. He snarled as soon as left the room. It irritated him to be sent away like a common servant in order to fetch that sniveling Gryffindor. Even if that simpering fool was the key into Dumbledore's inner circle.

_But still, to be ordered around in his own Manor! It was insufferable. Nott, who was standing in the library Lucius had stalked into, took one look at his expression and winced. "Lucius?"_

_"Get Pettigrew," Lucius spat between his teeth. Nott, never the most powerful of Death Eaters, hastened to obey. Lucius quite liked showing off his dueling skills. He briefly wondered if he'd have a chance to see Narcissa and Draco before leaving on the raid. "Provided Pettigrew has the information he promised," Lucius whispered._

_"Talking to yourself? Now I know I've seen everything." Lucius turned at the sound of Severus Snape's voice._

_"Ah, Severus, how good of you to join us," he sneered. Severus shrugged and silently tapped his Dark Mark. He was leaning against the doorframe inelegantly. He looked rather haggard; there were dark circles under his eyes, and Lucius could spot several stains on his black robes. "What rampaging beast attacked you?"_

_"The Dark Lord commissioned a potion. Nearly two days straight brewing time, plus the three days I spent harvesting ingredients."_

_Lucius raised an eyebrow. "So that's where you were when we dropped in on the Longbottoms?"_

_Severus scowled. "I told the Dark Lord he could either have my presence at what would be a routine raid, or he could have his potion on time."_

_Lucius laughed. "Only you, my friend, only you."_

_"Do you know whom we're taking tonight?" he asked, rubbed his eyes tiredly._

_"We have a traitor, Severus," Lucius replied, smiling. "We're taking the Potters."_

_Severus froze. "I thought they were under the Fidelius Charm?"_

_"Ah, but we have their Secret-Keeper." Lucius turned to a glass case and pulled out an old bottle of wine. "Would you care to share a glass with me?"_

Harry jolted awake out of the dream? Memory? He hadn't moved from the floor, and Snape and Malfoy were nowhere in sight. He assumed they were still in his head, which was pounding. He raised his wand and cast a quick pain-killing charm he had learned from Snape. Useful after Cruciatus. "This better be worth it," he muttered to his two passengers, who stayed thankfully silent.

Harry reached out and grabbed the small vial of Floo Powder on the fireplace mantle. He pointed Oliver's wand at the fire and lit it. He threw the Powder into the fire and watched it burn. "Malfoy Manor, the study, honneur et famille," Harry slowly enunciated the specific location and the unbreakable password - "honor and family" - to Malfoy's private study. He stepped into the fire, noting that it was an entirely odd experience to hear someone else's voice coming out of his mouth.

Harry closed his eyes against the whirling and made sure to drop Oliver's wand. The fire spit him out and Harry stumbled, finding himself on the floor for the second time that day. He gingerly opened his eyes and looked around.

The room Malfoy had directed him to was small, about the size of the Hogwarts' offices. The walls were lined with full bookshelves, old and worn books. From the few titles Harry could glimpse off of the floor, _this_ is where Malfoy's stash of Dark Arts materials had stayed, escaping the Ministry's notice. There was a wood desk in the center of the room, a deep mahogany. There were scratches and burn marks on the legs, Harry wondered if Malfoy had practiced on it. He groaned and slowly picked himself off the floor.

"Welcome to the Snake Pit," a new voice said. Harry quickly looked to the chair that matched the desk.

A tall boy, around seventeen, with black hair was sitting in it, twirling a wand. A wand Harry knew almost as well as his own. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. It pulsed, and Harry suddenly remembered the first time he had ever seen Fawkes; it had been the Phoenix's Burning Day. The boy was dressed in a green and silver Hogwarts uniform, plain black robes with a Head Boy badge pinned to them. "Oh _fuck,_" Harry swore.

"Why Harry! One would think you're not happy to see me!" Tom Riddle smiled.


End file.
